Generations
by RinoaTifa
Summary: Post Season One Finale. The Heroes begin to rebuild their lives, yet a new threat already looms. R&R.


Title: Generations

Author: RinoaTifa

Disclaimer: I do not own Heroes. All dialogue is my own, except for some of the Claire/Mr Bennet conversation in this chapter, which is a mixture of lines used in the show and my own words.

Warning: There will be major spoilers for the first series throughout, so if you haven't seen it, don't read this. There may also be some violence and the occasional strong language later on. You have been warned.

Also, please appreciate that with a universe as expansive and detailed as the Heroes one, it is easy to make mistakes relating to character histories or how they know each other and such. I'll try my best to be accurate but if I do occasionally forget something, please don't berate me for it. Instead, courteously inform me of my mistake and perhaps even offer some help to the poor English girl, especially if her mistakes lie in locations or descriptions, as she knows next to nothing about the layout of the UK, let alone American geography.

The Idea: This is intended to be my ideas for Series Two of Heroes, as a way of tiding myself over until it eventually makes its way over to the UK sometime next year. And yes, before you ask, I am making most of this up as I go along (unlike the geniuses who write Heroes who actually know exactly what they're doing) but I do have at least some of the intended arc planned, and the more you review and pester, the more driven I will be to continue.

Characters: This fic will contain each of the Heroes, though will probably focus on Peter, Claire and Mr Bennet, as I find them the most interesting. I would also like to put in a lot of the loveable Hiro, but frankly I'm not sure I'm optimistic enough to write him effectively and I am at a loss as to where the writers intend for that plotline to go, so I'm pretty limited with him at the moment.

Thanks, and I hope you enjoy!

* * *

Prologue: Aftermath

Chapter Summary: A quick recap of the events of the explosive series finale, as well as a brief idea of the immediate aftermath.

"I think we may have got off on the wrong foot," Mr Bennet announced, smiling wryly as he extended his hand in a gesture of friendship.

Mohinder Suresh eyed it a tad warily, still unsure what to think. Everything had happened so quickly – one minute he and Molly were safe within the Kirby Plaza building, the next their so called protector was dead and they were being threatened by his murderers, one of whom seemed to have rescued Molly previously from the 'bogeyman.' Not long later they were all on the run, meeting with three other people along the way, at least two of whom had already exhibited supernatural abilities, united in their fear of the monster that called himself Sylar. Then, in a flash, he was there, a living, breathing nightmare filling the Plaza with his presence. Molly's two would be killers were already down, one bleeding from several bullet wounds to the chest, the other, the one now addressing him with the distinctive horn rimmed glasses, groaning in pain as he slumped against the building. To his amazement, he had recognised Peter Petrelli being held in a strangle hold by the man who had slaughtered his father and had been forced to watch, helpless, as the battle ensued, Peter's survival brought about unexpectedly by the intervention of the blond he had just met within the building.

Then, Peter's hands had started to glow. Though he wasn't sure why, Mohinder was afraid of that bright, sickly hue and the expression on Peter's face when it appeared. Dimly, he recalled his last real conversation with the hospice nurse – warnings from the future, something terrible they had to prevent… At the time he had dismissed it as pure fantasy but now he had the distinct feeling that the prophecy was about to come to pass, and if it couldn't be prevented the results would be catastrophic.

Before his addled brain could decide what to do, out of nowhere appeared another man and, despite not looking like much with his glasses and small frame, it had been his actions that had finally ended Sylar. It was only when Peter referred to him as Hiro that Mohinder realised this must be Hiro Nakamura, the man who had visited Peter from the future. Yet there was no time to dwell on this man's marvellous gift – the glow was already becoming stronger and brighter, and Sylar's last act was making sure Hiro was unable to stop Peter the way he had stopped him.

But then someone else had arrived – a young girl, still in her teens, and he had been shocked at the determination she had showed, taking the gun from the man still lying against the wall and pointing it at Peter and, much as he hated himself for it, Mohinder was willing her to pull the trigger, pull it and end all this, stop whatever was about to take place from coming to fruition. For a moment he was convinced she would… and yet there was still a final player to enter the scene, and not one he had expected to see.

From everything he knew of Nathan Petrelli, he had never struck Mohinder as the hero type. Sure, he could help, sometimes even would, but there was usually something in it for him. He knew the newly elected senator had a soft spot for his brother but even then it was often linked to his career – if Peter went and did something crazy or dangerous, it wouldn't reflect well on Nathan, so naturally he tried to prevent it. Even so, he was hardly what Mohinder would describe as selfless or the kind of man who would willingly sacrifice himself for another. So it was certainly unexpected, the exchange that took place between him, Peter and the teenager, Claire, not least of all because of how it ended. Mohinder had watched with the others, astonished, as Nathan had carried his younger brother up, up, up into the sky and, moments later, the explosion, lighting up the sky with its brilliance despite the late hour. Then all was quiet, except for Claire's quiet sobs and the ragged breathing of the injured policeman whose blood still coated Mohinder's hands.

Half an hour later, things seemed to be moving even faster. The paramedics had arrived quickly on the scene and the injured were being taken away. The rest of the survivors stood around in clumps, clearly still too shocked by what they had seen to move away just yet, talking in hushed voices and clutching each other or themselves, for comfort as much as anything else. The police would be on the scene soon and it had already been silently agreed that none of them would say a thing about what had transpired that night – no one would believe them anyway. Mohinder glanced to his right and saw little Molly chatting away animatedly to a lad of around her own age whom they had encountered earlier that night. It was nice to see her smile again. His eyes flitted back up to meet those of the man stood beside him, hand still proffered. He thought back to their first meeting, all those weeks ago when he had found the man in horn rimmed glasses searching his late father's apartment and the hatred he had felt for the man then. Not so long ago, back in Molly's room, he had felt the same hatred but now…

Everything had gone so fast, and Mohinder couldn't help but think that working out exactly what had happened or how he felt could wait until later. He relaxed slightly, and grasped Mr Bennet's hand in a firm handshake. "Yes," he conceded. "Perhaps we did."

* * *

Claire Bennet was alone, the stars reflected in her hazel eyes as she stared unblinkingly upwards. She sat on the kerb, arms wrapped tightly round her middle and rocking slightly on her heels. Lost in her own thoughts, she was not instantly aware when her father appeared beside her, draping his coat around her shoulders.

"I was talking to Professor Suresh. He seems to have some very interesting ideas about your ability," commented Mr Bennet as casually as though he were discussing what one of Claire's teachers had said about her on parents evening. Silence. He glanced across at his adopted daughter, wondering whether she'd even heard him. Sighing quietly, he reached across and squeezed her hand. "Claire?" he asked, gently.

Finally, Claire tore her eyes away from overhead and met his gaze. "Do you think he'll come back?"

Mr Bennet shook his head gravely. "Not tonight. I think he'll want to be alone tonight."

"If he's even still alive."

"Of course he is. He has your ability to spontaneously regenerate, doesn't he?"

"Yeah but that hasn't stopped him from dying before." Her eyes became more desperate, a young child demanding a parents' reassurance to alleviate their fears. "What if it doesn't work this time? What if he's too far away or been too badly hurt or something? What if he's really gone?"

Squeezing her hand again, Mr Bennet responded with as much certainty as he could muster, "Peter is going to be fine. Trust me."

She looked so small to him then, so young and fragile and lonely but then she nodded resolutely and he caught a flash of his strong, brave Claire shining through. Turning away, her eyes returned to the heavens. The sky remained resolutely empty, save for a scattering of stars dotted about its inky cloak. Claire sighed quietly. "So what are we going to do now?"

"That's up to you. We can stay here all night, if you want, and watch the skies in case he comes back, or we can go home."

Claire smiled ever so slightly, letting out a derisive snort. "What home? Our house burned down."

"Home is anywhere our family is together," came Mr Bennet's immediate response.

The sixteen year old turned to face her adoptive father again, one eyebrow quirked up slightly. "You've got a plan, right?"

Mr Bennet nodded seriously and Claire felt instantly more at ease. She sat in thoughtful silence for a moment, before suddenly announcing, "I think I want to go home."

Again, Mr Bennet nodded, as though he thought that would be her decision, and they both rose to their feet. Claire moved round, ducking beneath his good arm and tucking her shoulder under his. Smiling, he wrapped his arm around his daughter's shoulders and the two of them walked off together.

With all that had happened, and the confusion and worry that for many was still ensuing, it's not really surprising that no one noticed the absence of Sylar's body from where it had fallen not long previously. Neither did they see the trail of sticky, red blood leading to an open manhole cover nearby…

* * *

He had to get away. Far, far away. 

He was speeding through the night sky, flying so fast that the landscape below had already changed from sun-baked desert to rolling hills of luscious green. He had no idea where he was or where he was going – just that he couldn't, wouldn't stop, not until he had put as many miles between himself and what had just happened as possible.

He had always gotten a thrill out of the sensation of flying – after all, it had been a subject of supreme fascination for him for so long – but right now all he could feel was a terrible, burning sickness in his core, screaming in his ears and ramming itself down his throat.

Not long ago, Peter Petrelli had woken to find himself strewn across the ground in the middle of some God forsaken, barren land with nothing in sight for miles. For a moment he had panicked, wondering if he had exploded, if this was all that remained of New York, if he really had murdered all those people and destroyed an entire city… But then it all came flooding back. The Plaza. Sylar. Hiro. Nathan…

Gasping as the memories hit him, Peter had become aware of a dull, painful throbbing in his torso. He tried to get up, but the pain was too much and he fell back, thoughts racing back to several weeks ago, a college in Texas, meeting a cheerleader by the name of Claire Bennet… A familiar warmth filled him, almost like an electricity, centred around the pain, and then it was gone and he found he could sit up. Yet still a pain gnawed away within, the kind that even Claire's powers couldn't fix. It was then that the need hit him, the powerful desire to get as far away from here as possible and not look back and next thing he knew, Peter was in the air, flying, just like Nathan does…

Did. Just like Nathan did.

First Simone, now Nathan.

It wasn't fair. Everything Peter loved seemed to turn to ash before him, and all because of what he could do. It was so ironic – he spent most of his childhood dreaming about being a superhero, his adolescence wishing he could be special then his adult years quietly nursing the belief that he was meant for something bigger, that he really did have a destiny. Was this it? Was this his destiny: to be responsible for the deaths of the people he cared about? His power was to mimic the abilities of others – to copy and keep, like some kind of scavenger or parasite that feeds off others then discards them when they were no longer useful. Was that what he was becoming? Was that the price of what he could do?

He'd thought he was going to save the world. Instead, he'd nearly decimated an entire city and killed his brother.

Sylar's words still rang in his head, reverberating through his skull and pounding against his eardrums: "_Turns out you're the villain, Peter. I'm the hero__."_

Could that be true?

Peter didn't know, but he was certain of one thing: since he had discovered his powers, two of the people he loved most in the world had died because of him. If he hadn't been arguing with Isaac that day and using his invisibility, Simone would never have been shot. If he hadn't lost control of Ted's power, Nathan wouldn't have had to sacrifice himself in order to save half of New York.

But he wouldn't let it happen again. That's why he had to get as far away as possible – so that no one else he loved would have to suffer because of him. So that Claire, his niece, wouldn't be the next one to pay the price.


End file.
